Ken Gosse generally writes light poetry using simple language, meter, and rhyme in verses filled with whimsy and humor. First published in The First Literary Review–East in 2016, his poetry is also online with Academy of the Heart and Mind, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Home Planet News, Impspired, and others. He is also in print anthologies from Pure Slush, The Coil, Truth Serum Press, Peking Cat, and others. Raised in the Chicago suburbs, he and his wife have lived in Indiana, Texas, Oklahoma, Germany, Virginia, and now in Mesa, Arizona over twenty years with two or more rescue dogs and cats always underfoot. Their four children and their grandchildren are scattered around the county, mostly at long distances.
Playing the Pyramid
Playing the Pyramid
The Pharaoh’s maestro, D’oh-Raymese, liked to please. Played with ease piano keys, ukuleles, and spoons on knees— a jazzy breeze to keep things upbeat though melancholy, knowing the downbeat was their finale, sealed within the gloom deep in their Pharaoh’s tomb with barely ample room for dancing to their doom. This life would not resume but music helped consume the darkness of this womb. Though their time was nearly out— the air was quickly thinning— yet they sang without a doubt believing they were winning, hoping they would soon be free to start a new beginning: Do, re, mi … fa … sol … la … ti
The following verses were among many found on the tomb’s walls:
Dopamine can make you smile, radiating like the day. Me? It’s been a long, long while— far ago and long away. So, I might look for a source lots of others use, of course, teaming with undue remorse when we splash down with a “D’oh!”
Blogs of a Feather
Doppelgangers everywhere raining down like cats and dogs. Me, I garner deep despair following so many blogs. So alike—I’m plagiarized! Lattes help. I’ve realized teams of them should be franchised, but they won’t send me their dough!
The Sourdough Song
Dopey was the name they’d use, raining on my every plan. Meaning harm, they’d disabuse: “Folly! He is not a man!” So, I’d give in and I’d run, lamenting I’d never won; teeny blot beneath the sun eating bitter sourdough!
Advice Not Taken
Dodos are my favorite food; raisin stuffing’s very nice. Mealtime puts me in the mood. Father gave us this advice: “Solo stalking of your prey, lassoing’s the noble way, teamwork’s fine—just one-a-day, or you’ll run out of Dodos.”